


Lovers for the Night

by NovaeLuna



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Gold & Silver & Crystal | Pokemon Gold Silver Crystal Versions
Genre: Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Redemptionshipping - Freeform, don't worry they're my OTP i won't do anything too bad to them i love them so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:52:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaeLuna/pseuds/NovaeLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe both of their masks are cracked? (But as long as it's a masquerade party, it'll be fine.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers for the Night

**Author's Note:**

> iM GONNA SCREAM I HAVEN'T BEEN ACTIVE ON ANYTHING LATELY I'M SO SORRY AND WHOA THIS SUCKS

The clinking of overpriced glasses with swirling wine and the comforting yet indiscernible murmurings of familiar strangers are what fill the dimly lit gala room, and as he takes one elegant step to the right to avoid a clearly boisterous couple- or should he say, new acquaintances- he finds himself immersing in the delight of others.

It is here, in this place with gold-strewn animosity placed precariously in front of faces, that he is free, and no to be bothered; no stranger would dally for long if the audience was rude, and rude as he may be, under normal circumstances, they'd be willing no matter what due to his prominence. Politeness extends no further than animosity, so he oftentimes likes to screw with their minds as they smile at him. It's laughable, how they think personal connections will ever benefit anyone in this world.

But here, he is free from those strangers who mock his bachelor status as a wealthy son, although no one in his circle of acquaintances has devoted themselves to a person yet; the night's too young for any love.

He sidesteps a line of people dancing (too close for people who were familiar with one another, but in the familiarity of strangers), and weaves his way through the crowd out of the ballroom; people just a little influenced by spirits fall into his arms as if he were their lover, and he, in haste, spins them up again, sending them towards another lover for the night. His shoes clack against the wooden floor, making faint creaking noises as he adjusts his mask and heads towards the garden.

He isn't sure what to expect, and he takes a deep breath and awaits an empty night sky.

* * *

 

The garden is free of dead flowers, unlike last year.

Last year, she was here too, singing in a god-awful voice while ripping bloodied petunia blossoms off their stems as if they were necks and she were a guillotine, and it was the French Revolution and all that. Hearing her sing lullabies in a cringe-worthy off-tune as she bled onto the flowers and into his heart, the first thing he had thought when he had seen her was that it was awfully impolite to ruin the flowers of strangers; the second being she was beautiful.

And indeed, strangers they were, for the girl had hair the color of blue sky and muddied shoes and torn ribbons and a mask stripped of golden-brilliance, and yet she was no more stranger to him than he to himself: perfect and falling in love with him as strangers often do.

"...It's a lovely night to kill some poor innocent flowers, isn't it?" He had asked at the time, approaching her with his hands at his sides, gazing only at her eyes and searching for maybe any sign of a person like him- tired and a bit irritated at life and its miseries. He had noticed how the girl fiddled with the petals as if they were handkerchiefs, and released them without any sign of guilt, declaring them perishable like tissues. The flower petals dropped lightly onto the ground.

He had tsked slightly at the sight of the flowers; they were perfectly good flowers, and while any other time, he would rage and expel any person who would dare touch his flowers, the light of a destroyer looked good on her, so he waited.

"...It's not lovely enough for me to want to talk to you," she responded, and for a second he was irritated; he had good intentions and no means of proving it, yet the irritation soon dissolved into admiration, because the girl's eyes were beautiful and flaming with defiance and burning with a passion he had only ever heard mentioned in poems dedicated to himself, and soon, he found himself answering back, snark in his tone and exuding smugness.

"Looks like someone isn't enjoying the masquerade- but I'm sure you'll see, I'm more than enough for your eyes," he bit out, his mask probably hiding his head-over-heels love for a girl whose name he'd never know.

"Yes, that tiny bit of skin you call your mouth is already enough to burn them," she responded, although she stood even closer than and was nearly touching him; her bloodied hands fidgeted by her side, as if she had to restrain them from reaching out to touch him.

One last smirk from her, and he knows he's gone.

"Well, you know they say that seeing a god in his true form will cause the mortals to burst into flames."

She snorted at this comment, mouth twisting up in the most undignified yet perfect smile he'd ever seen, and then everything failed him.

He laughed, his hand reaching up to grab at his face, because oh god, he had fallen in love with a girl whose singing voice was complete cow excrement yet whose voice was golden, and whose eyes were fiery _and this wasn't supposed to happen_ ; he saw the girl visibly flinch away from him- probably startled by his reaction. But he thought nothing of it, instead choosing to take in her annoyed expression at being caught off guard, and found himself in an euphoric state at the sheer joy she invoked in him.

Yet as he laughed at the seriousness of the situation and the sheer ridiculousness of it all, he found that she too joined in, and then they were nothing more than two awkward strangers sitting in a bloodied graveyard of spring flowers, pointing at each other and laughing, and he doesn't care because this is all night folly and by the day she'll have fallen out of love with him and he with her, but for now, it is beautiful and their future is wonderful, and he can imagine himself rolling in the graves of flowers for years to come.

And they rolled around, and he pushed her around and she pushed him, and they laughed and cried and were so dreadfully (wonderfully) in love that he didn't even realize that he was giving himself a death wish until the point where he found her on top of him, panting and wonderfully breathless from fighting that she gave a chaste kiss on the lips, small yet significant in its own right.

Yet, as the clock had chimed twelve right then, before he could say anything, she had stood up and started running off.

"H-hey! Where are you going!?" He had asked, panicked and scared because he was completely and utterly in love with a girl who, if she left, he would never see again; he caught up to her, grabbing her by her shoulder because her hands and her face were a bit too far away, and he was completely wrecked because this girl wasn't meeting his eyes. Maybe if there wasn't this desperation, this whole moment of drama and panic, this would've been a one night thing, but now he's emotionally invested and she's emotionally invested, and he can tell they both want to see each other again, _but they're strangers._

He slowed her down, and turned her carefully around, caressing her rather pocked jawline with a tenderness he'd never known he had. He pecked her softly on the jaw, and then once on the lips, and waited until she relaxed in his arms before holding her tightly.

For the first time in his life, he whispered what he was thinking without any restraints, even though he knew it was useless and it couldn't change anything they were still just strangers, but they were strangers _who loved each other_ and that had made all the difference in the world.

He traced his name onto the skin showing on her shoulder, wanting to tell her that it was his name he was tracing, and that she could know his name, and then she could tell him hers and _that they could live happily ever after._

"My name's-"

And then she shut him up before he could finish it, with one last, final kiss.

He tried again, but she physically slammed her hand onto his mouth, and he felt the sting burn his sensitive lips.

He reached to remove her hand, but she stopped him.

"Stop. We're strangers, and this is completely okay as a one-night thing, but this can't go on any further-"

And then he couldn't do anything, because this was the person he loved, and he was a love-struck fool, and he knew that she wouldn't let him say his name, but everything was so right, yet so wrong-

"...I love you!" He had yelled at her, hoping for some reaction, some pity, some adoration, _anything_  to tell him that the night was real- and he saw it, he saw it in the way her shoulders dropped with resignation, he saw it in the way her sigh was expelled as if she was leaving everything she had ever known, and he saw it in her eyes that she was not going to let him win.

And so, oh-so slowly and reluctantly, he let his grip go.

And she had run away, without even a farewell, leaving a stupid, pathetic stranger behind in a bloody site of massacred petunias.

* * *

The night sky and garden are empty here at eleven at night, and his spirits fall, so he takes off his stupid dress-suit and gloves and glares at the stupid petunias as if they've personally done some offense to him.

Striding over to them, he forcefully yanks one out of the ground, and, upon finding it didn't help one bit, proceeds to tear out the rest, completely focused on executing these villainous flowers who don't support the French Revolution and need to be beheaded at the guillotine, when he hears a laugh which, for the past year, had haunted his nightmares and beautiful dreams.

There's a girl with hair the color of the blue sky and a mask lined with the worst quality ribbons he's ever seen right behind him, and for a second, he just stays squatting there, taking in the way she's still flat-chested and pocked with scars and is now much shorter than him due to another sudden increase in height he's had, and is still as beautiful as before. He looks stupid, he then registers after about fifteen seconds of staring, for which he is extremely flustered about.

The girl steps closer.

"...It's a lovely night to kill some poor innocent flowers, isn't it?" She says, and he can feel himself even tear up with how she's remembered his words and how they're not the same people but he still loves her and everything's oh-so different and it's still the same-

"...Y-you-"

He can't bring himself to say anything, and he's flustered and tongue-tied and she's stepping even closer to him, and his mind is going into overdrive-

"...Nice to meet you, stranger," she says, and he's confused. She obviously knows him, from the way she's nervously looking at him and the way she's sweating and oh-god she really is beautiful even though she's panting and covered with dirt and everything but so  _is he_ \- and the awkward yet now polite him is now confused on how to greet her and what to do. 

She grabs onto his hands, forcing herself to meet his eyes, and it's a pair of confused eyes meeting a pair of scared eyes, and she's saying something that he has to focus on-

"...for one more night, and then-"

"W-wait, what?"

She looks scared, and almost ready to run away now, but he grabs tightly onto her sweaty hands and hopes that he isn't just as sweaty even though he finds it perfectly fine for her, and he places one hand on the back of her neck gently, and leans in closer. Her breath is gross, and his probably is too, but who cares? It's a masquerade ball and no one knows each other and they're all strangers.

The air turns quiet.

She fidgets before staring right into his eyes, and then they both relax, comforted by each other.

"I...I said that...I would like if we were strangers for only one more night."

He almost deflates, because that means that she'll leave again.

But then the clock chimes for midnight.

He's scared that she'll leave again when she's only just arrived, and this time, he holds her tight and tells himself that he'll never let go and that he's sorry to his love for not letting her go-

But then she's laughing softly, and then guiding his hand up her perfectly blemished face, and then she helps him untie her bad quality mask while leaning into his dirty, flower-smelling hand- and she's beautiful. She's completely beautiful, and he's floored right there, and he wants to spend all the time in the world just observing her small teenage stress lines for all the weirdness and glory they shine on her face, and wants to gently smooth them out and kiss them and wants to spend forever just staring into her eyes-

She reaches up around his head, pulling down on him slightly due to the height difference, and gently unties the mask while touching their foreheads.

He feels the mask drop to the ground, another death for the graveyard of flowers and beautiful things littered on the ground.

"....I-I'm Kris, and uh...hi?"

He chuckles and hugs Kris closely, enjoying the way she nervously tenses up and then relaxes into his arms, and loving the way she unknowingly makes a small noise of comfort at the action.

"Hi Kris, I'm Silver, and I once fell in love with a stranger."

(Maybe there was the beauty of animosity inside the ballroom at the moment, but he decided that sitting while grinning stupidly with your loved one while putting dead flowers into each other's hair was way more beautiful.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, there are two flower meanings of petunias:
> 
> 1\. Your presence is soothing  
> 2\. Anger or resentment
> 
> and I got completely lucky with the flower and the story because I wrote the story before I remembered to check for flower meanings so wow I got lucky with that and the meaning fits thank goodness
> 
> IM SCREAMING I KINDA GAVE UP TOWARDS THE END I GIVE UP


End file.
